


Major Richards and The Riddle

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:29:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Sitting with his third drink in his hand, Major Kevin Richards thought back over the past several days.  Contact with the Clan was always thought-provoking, frequently frustrating, and often more than a little confusing.  These last few encounters, first with Meghada, then with her parents, then the young woman again, well, they had been all that and more.  Perhaps it was that third drink, or maybe the fourth, that caused him to think this all had the feel of an ancient Greek riddle the hero had to answer correctly to gain the prize.  "What is as strong and steadfast as a mountain, as fragile and delicate as a butterfly's wing?  What is visible yet invisible?"   And what the bloody hell did a dead frog have to do with anything???!   Hopefully in the morning he'd have a few answers.  He sure as hell was going to have a hangover!!





	Major Richards and The Riddle

It was not the first time he'd broached the subject with her. He knew it was probably a lost cause; he'd butted his head into the stone wall that was an O'Donnell woman in love (or one who had convinced herself she was in love, which he truly believed was the case, both in the past with Caeide and now with Meghada, and quite honestly, with Felane, though he had to admit that seemed to have worked out. It was hard to keep telling himself she could have done better if she had waited when she was obviously so content and happy after all these years).

Still, here he was again about to argue with one of those women - stubborn, resistant to logic, adamant about walking down that path straight into the dark woods. But, still, he had to try. She, her sisters, they had so much to give a man, the right man. Why, how they could make such poor choices, set that feast in front of someone who couldn't begin to appreciate what was being offered, that he didn't understand and he was sure he never would. But the last time, she'd tossed him out of her cottage and then refused to speak to him except in crisp professional tones when discussing a mission.

Then, she'd told him she was headed home for a few days, and he hoped her family would talk some sense into her. He made a point of taking a day himself, before her planned trip, going to talk to her mother himself, urging her to take his part in the battle.

Why he thought that was going to work, he didn't know. He'd heard the story, of the not-quite-eleven year old Felane, deciding she wanted her third cousin as her Bond-mate - several times removed, twenty-two year old Nantan Lupan - deciding she'd have no other. He'd heard how she bided her time, but had actually started courting him halfway through her thirteenth year, persisting despite his resistance and misgivings, til finally, after her Internship, when she showed no signs of changing her mind, he'd given in, and taken her in Bond.

He remembered all that now, looking into those serene brown eyes, eyes that were kind and somehow seemed to pity him. No, she wouldn't be likely to take his side in this. Lupan had come in from the kennels during the last of their discussion at the kitchen table, and Felane had stopped in mid-sentence, going to him, letting herself be drawn into those strong arms, held her face up for a kiss, leaning into her Bond-mate for a long moment.

Then she just said, "Kevin's come to take a ride on his favorite hobby-horse, my love, and getting only saddle-sores for all his efforts. Take pity on the poor man, will you, and get him a drink while I get the meal started?"

Lupan had given a deep chuckle, and looked at Kevin, "you want to switch saddles and have a drink with me? Can't promise fewer saddle sores but maybe they'll be in different places," and the two of them had gone off to the library at the back of the house, and Kevin had started his pleas for reason and good judgement all over again. Lupan listened, and again Kevin noted the kindness and understanding he was receiving, along with the fair hearing. Still, he knew his chances were dim.

"Kevin, I understand, I really do. There's nothing you're saying now that I didn't say to myself, all those years ago when Felane decided I was the one she wanted. I understood when you were ringing a peal when you finally realized about Caeide and Peter. But understanding what you are saying, what you truly believe, that doesn't make it the truth. You can't judge the truth, the reality for them; only they can do that. And asking them to take it apart in pieces, trying to figure out the where's and why's, that's not going to get you anywhere. They work on an instinctive basis. Ask any one of them, my Felane, our daughters, hell, any other females of the family whether they consider themselves logical, reasonable, civilized individuals, they'd think you'd gone mad, you know. My Felane's grandmother once told me that anyone who suggested she was 'civilized' would have caught a fist to his face, that she'd have considered it a grave insult. No, Kevin, for your own peace of mind, give it up. Wish them well, care about them, certainly, they'll appreciate that, but don't try to change them, to interfere in their personal lives, their personal choices. They are very fond of you, you know that, but that will only take you so far. Take your efforts too far, and you'll likely end up in hospital. Oh, the others will bring you candy and flowers and fuss over you, but they'll consider your plight much as they would one who knowingly walked into the center of a pond with slushy ice, that is, regrettable but really, all your own fault!" They had finished their drink, and Kevin had left, knowing he'd get no help there.

When Meghada arrived the next afternoon, Felane and Lupan made no mention of Kevin's visit; they figured if he had listened to them and was interested in a new start, then they had no interest in causing trouble for him. They caught up on all the news, and when Lupan headed out to the kennels to start training with the dogs, the two women sat down over a strong pot of coffee, and the serious discussion began.

Felane listened, and was rather surprised that Kevin had made enough of an impact to get Meghada questioning, if not her comittment, then her clarity; well, Meghada was different than her sisters, being Dragon - perhaps that was it. Dragons were known not just for their ferosity, but for collecting, storing up and protecting treasure, and 'treasure' included knowledge.

Still Felane was amused that this daughter was not different than the first in many respects; she was questioning, not the value of the one she had chosen, but the value of maintaining a friendship with one who continually challenged that choice. She knew that had certainly not been Kevin's intent.

Felane listened, but didn't let Meghada get too wound up in the discussion. She got up and pulled a basket of fresh bread from the tin-safe, fresh butter from the cold-box, and sat back down. "Eat," she encouraged, "your brain has to be hungry after all that digging around it's doing," and the two chuckled at the vision.

"Remember that polyptych you saw at the museum, when you were maybe ten, the one with the dragon, coiled around a loose heap of treasure, guarding it so zealously. We stood there for a very long time, and you were enthralled. Your grandmother and I ended up going on our way, looking at other pieces, and you stayed, drowning yourself in each part of it. In the first picture, she was in a dark room, facing the wide doorway, but you could still see the shine and glitter of the various individual pieces of treasure heaped around and under her. You could only see shadows for much of her body, but you could see her neck and head and her eyes, She looked so fierce, so determined. Do you remember the second picture?"

Meghada nodded, remembering, "aye, daylight was starting to stream in through the huge stained glass windows and skylights, and you could see all the details, even to the scales on her underside, and her claws."

"You could see the treasure more closely as well, do you remember? Remember how the pearls were starting to show damage and wear, some of the gold cups a bit of tarnish, the heaps of jewels perhaps not so bright?"

"Yes, and the tiles in the floor were cracked and moss on the walls and you could see the skeletons of men in the corners, their weapons beside them, those who'd come to try to steal what lay there. And if you looked closely through one of those windows, you could see another man, armored, on a horse with a lance and sword, followed by a company of footmen, all heavily armed as well, approaching down the road from the far mountains, searching for the dragon's treasure."

Felane took another sip of coffee, "when we returned, that historian was just walking up, looking over that piece along with others, and he made a comment, something about how the third picture, the one with her rearing up to protect her treasure from this new danger, made little sense. That the daylight clearly showed just what was there; that it made no sense for the dragon to stay and risk death just to guard such a worthless heap. And that fourth picture, he just shook his head at and walked away muttering about romantic foolishness, that even after that last encounter when she'd killed so many, had herself been injured, she was still being so foolishly stubborn; she was now clearly looking at the dimmed jewels, the tarnished goblets and plates and all the rest, surely she could see the flaws."

Meghada smiled as she remembered, "she was in the room again, blood flowing from various wounds, again curled around her treasure, and you could tell by the way it had been rearranged, various pieces here and there, that she'd been nosing over it, touching each piece, and there was a gentleness in her eyes, almost a smile on her face. And you could see the body of the knight, his armor bent and torn, his weapons broken, off in a corner, and just outside, all of his footmen piled high. I remember being shocked at what he had said, telling you and grandmother that the historian just didn't understand what the picture was saying. I remember how much I wanted to take that piece home with me; it seemed to be telling me all I needed to know about being a Dragon. What he didn't understand was that it was HER treasure; she . . ." and she chuckled and looked at her mother, thankful for the understanding that brought that memory to the forefront, "wasn't looking for flaws, judging each piece on the basis of perfection or luster, its value in someone else's eyes; she was reveling in what she had been given to love, to protect, to care for. It was hers, she treasured it, and that was all that mattered."

"Aye. You see, Kevin isn't like that knight or his men; you will run up against those, I've no doubt, and they need to be dealt with in true dragon fashion, and I know you are quite capable of that. But I think Kevin is more like that historian; it's not that he's being mean spirited or evil, trying to steal your treasure; he just doesn't understand WHY it's your treasure, and because of that can't acknowledge the value. That doesn't mean you need let him get away with interfering, but that you do need to cut him at least a little slack in his complaining." 

Eventually, of course, he broached the subject again, as she'd been expecting. But now, it was a little easier to deal with now; now she understood him better, perhaps understood herself better as well.

"Well, of course I could, I suppose, Kevin. But, why ever would I WANT to? Or NEED to? Oh, I suppose, you think if I sit down and strictly analyze HIM, his strengths, his failings, WHAT I feel for him, WHY I feel that way, dissect every part of it, trying to understand all the little ins and outs, you think I'll come to the conclusion that . . .? Well, what, exactly? That I'm mistaken in my feelings? That he's not 'worthy' in some way? That we are just not suited? What? Exactly what do you expect to happen?"

She looked at him, torn between equal measures of exasperation, anger, and pity. Why he had to think it was his responsibility to somehow guide them, keep them from falling prey to bad decisions, keep them from, oh, how did he put it during that tirade he had loosed on the oldest sister, 'wasting your life, just throwing it away!'.

Kevin Richards looked at her with frustration, "yes, maybe all of that, Meghada. You could have so much more, how can you settle for so much less?"

From the look in her eyes, he knew she was fast abandoning the aggravated sphere, and headed quickly into the out and out anger stage, but he was concerned enough, cared enough to risk the possible bodily harm that might accompany that shift. He did remember, uncomfortably, her mother warning him, "Kevin, do not mistake Meghada for Caeide. Caeide has a much higher tolerance for your foolishness; Meghada, hardly any. Where Caeide might just tighten her lips and tell you to mind your own business, Meghada, well . . . I just would avoid that whole situation, if I were you!"

And then, it was gone, that whirlwind of emotion that made him instinctively want to duck and head for cover. Now, he was left with sorrow and a weary kindness, and above all, pity, and those emotions, now so evident on her face, in her eyes, they confused him as much as the others had made him apprehensive.

"Come, Kevin, sit," and he did, while she sat a small basket of sweet biscuits on the table, and poured out two small glasses of honey coloured whiskey from the tall bottle on the counter.

"I won't defend him, or me, or what we are to each other, because there is nothing to defend, and no one we should be obliged to defend ourselves against, most certainly not you, Kevin." She looked at him, tilting her head, thinking of how to say this without ruining the friendship they DID have. She rather doubted recounting the story of that polyptych would do the trick.

"Kevin, did you ever take biological sciences during your education?" and he had to admit, as a segue, that was masterful, such that his jaw dropped.

"What?"

"Were you ever assigned a dissection? Maybe a frog?" and he frowned, mystified, but nodded.

"Yes, it was required; nasty business," he shuddered and took a sip from the glass.

"Yes, I agree, and I'm not too sure many of the students learn much of profit from the process. But the one thing you DO learn?"

She held up her hand, palm up, holding an imaginary frog, using the forefinger of the other hand to gently stroke said frog, so that Kevin could almost see the little green creature sitting there. "You take this frog, alive, happy, doing whatever frogs do for what ever reason frogs do those things, things perhaps known and understood ONLY by frogs, perhaps known and understood only by THAT particular frog - you dissect it, Kevin, trying to find out all the ins and outs, whys and wherefores; whatever you may learn from the process, one thing is for sure - you end up with a bloody mess and one dead frog."

And THEN she shifted the subject, totally and finally, since that said all she felt needed to be said about her tearing apart her feelings, her reasons for loving the man she loved. 

She wasn't sure he really got it, but it was obvious she had set him back far enough he wasn't going to continue the conversation, at least not now, hopefully not ever. She only hoped, for his sake, that eventually he came to understand, because she truly feared if he didn't, his chances for achieving anything nearly as rare and wonderful - well, she'd not rate them very high at this moment. How could she have explained? How could she have told him about her love, her treasure . . .

He came back, hurt in body and spirit, and she was at his side, comforting, tending. She struggled with the ghosts of what she had seen and done, and he was there, holding back the night, letting her spirit heal. He disappeared into nothingness, him and one of his brothers; she and her sister sought him and brought both of them home. She disappeared into nothingness, her and a friend; he and his brothers sought her, and brought them both home to safety. He ventured out from behind his masks that he had worn for so very long, slowly, cautiously, and she sat patiently, letting him reveal himself in his own way, in his own time, honored that he would do so with her. She fought her battles, taking the wounds and scars, and he stood back, respecting her need to be herself, no matter his need to protect and shelter her. He trusted her and let her see his heart, let her see that he held TWO within that space; she saw, and rejoiced for him, and resolved to make that Other welcome for HIS sake. He brought his brothers to her, trusting her to care for them as he did; she saw, and welcomed them as brothers as well, and both, no, all of their lives were enriched. As her heart unfolded, first to hold him, then those he held dear, the music returned to her, now that her heart was open enough to hold the music once again; he listened in wonder as her songs spoke those things he'd never allowed himself to say. They each saw those who would threaten, and they each took steps to eliminate those threats. They each saw the opportunity to love and grow and encourage each other, and with the addition of his Other, together they saw something new come into being, something formed from each of them, so that now there was HIM, and HIM, and HER, and together, making a strong and loving THEM. And what would have been perhaps amazing to Kevin Richards, they no longer thought of whether they were worthy of the love being given to them (for they had NEVER thought of, never doubted whether the OTHERS were worthy of being loved), but only rejoiced in that love, and resolved to return it in full.

She sat at the table still thinking about that conversation even after Kevin Richards left, speaking her thoughts aloud.

"I hope he is lucky enough to find something so precious, and that if he does, he accepts it, without having to tear it apart, trying to see all the bits and pieces and whys and wherefores. Accepts it, treasures it. For such a sturdy thing, a thing giving such steady and reliable support, love can still be surprisingly fragile, especially in the beginning. I only hope he doesn't destroy such a gift by his need to take it apart and analyse it."

She shook her head with a concerned frown; for all his nagging at them, they truly were fond of him, wished him only happiness and contentment.

With a deep sigh she rose to go harvest from the garden, and from there to get busy with the translations she was doing for Rascal and his group. Since she had no control over what her old friend would do, she might as well get started with things she DID have some say over.


End file.
